


My Mind Palace

by WelcomeToMyMindPalace



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (2010), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Difficult Decisions, F/M, Friendship is Magic, Gen, Parallel Universes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock's Mind Palace, personal change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelcomeToMyMindPalace/pseuds/WelcomeToMyMindPalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to Sherlock he is the most rude, unpleasant man any person could ever have the misfortune to meet but John is well aware that his flat mate wasn't born like that. John had moiled about what could have caused Sherlock's transformation but even Sherlock seems to have forgotten it - or pretend to.<br/>One day Sherlock plops down in a very mysterious world where everything around him seems to be somewhat familiar. Though all of it is completely baffling parts of it stick to forgotten memories of his childhood.<br/>Sherlock is now confronted with everything that he once was and to whom he is now. </p>
<p>What would he become if he softened his shell? Would he be able to face his past with the person he is now? </p>
<p>Meanwhile back on Baker Street John is suffering from the deepest concerns for his friend who lies at the hospital with a concussion and seems to get worse the more he changes himself in his Mind Palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Flat Mate for John Watson

                                                                                     

 Molly Hooper entered the mortuary with a fresh corpse. Behind her a tall man with dark curls and very pale skin paced with his long legs up beside the corpse. As she parked the body with all the other bodies her co-worker zipped the bag open to reveal the face of an elderly man.

„I knew him. Nice man, used to work down in the hardware dealer store on the corner," Molly said a little upset.

Her colleague shot her a penetrating stare and she sealed her lips into a thin line. He retrieved a small magnifying glass from his inner coat pocket and started to analyze the body down to every possible detail. Molly mirrored his behaviour but that only caused him to look doubtful at her and when she met his eyes they were icy. From now on she'd better keep her hands to herself - which actually was quite silly since she worked here and had as much right to do it as Sherlock. It was Sherlock she, madly enough, was in love with but the feelings was quite obvious not mutual.

„I wondered..." Molly hesitated hastily stroking a strand behind her ear. „If you want to have coffee?" Sherlock pulled off his plastic gloves.

„Black, two sugars. I'll be upstairs," he offered her a kind smile and vanished upstairs to the laboratory.

It was those brief moments that made Molly love him. Not that it was what she meant by "have coffee", obviously, but that was okay. She got a smile from him and his focus was on her the very short second. Molly scolded herself for letting such a stuck-up prat stomp her down once again but went out to make the black coffee with exactly two tea-spoonful of sugar to Sherlock.

As she came into the lab with the two mugs in hand Mike Stamford and some other guy were visiting Sherlock. Sherlock was in the middle of ripping the poor stranger to the bone with his bragging deduction skills. „Oh, hi Molly," he paused as she came level with the blond guy who stood dumbfounded and clearly awkward as Sherlock walked towards her to retrieve his mug.

„What happened to the lipstick?" He asked as if he couldn't care less and waved his hand as he took a careful sip.

„It didn't work," said Molly uncertainly.

„It worked perfectly for me. Your mouth is... too small now,"

Molly snorted twitchy but worked up a smile anyway. Sherlock returned to his microscope to look at some samples when suddenly something struck him.

„Sorry, gotta dash - I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary," he took his trench coat from the coat tree and walked past them with a whoosh. A deadly silence dominated the laboratory until the fellow started asking questions.

„That's it? We're moving in together and I don't know you - I don't even know your name," he frowned sceptical clearly judging the whole situation as ridiculous. Sherlock stopped in the doorway.

„The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," he winked and went off leaving his currently new flat mate and his colleagues exchanging awkward glances.

 

 

                                            **^^ - APPROXIMATELY 4 MONTHS LATER - ^^**

 

Sherlock and John entered their flat a late Thursday night after a successful time in the lab. John felt exhausted and relieved as he plopped down in his armchair to feel the instant comfort surround him. Sherlock mimicked his behaviour and let out a calm sigh. They had been up late every night in more than a week because of a flood of different cases. This night they had come as close as to say another case was solved.

„It was nice of Molly to stay and help," John mentioned gratefully. Sherlock replied with a hum.

„I mean the fact that she was there all the time helping though it is past midnight - and she even provided us with coffee," John continued and he could feel Sherlock might have blocked him out - put him on mute. Jokingly he continued;

„You do know she thinks you have boyfriend material, right?"

Sherlock shot daggers at him but John just repelled them with light-heatedly laugh.

„It's quite obvious, John - but as I have told you - feelings is a human error," John arched an eyebrow and chuckled sarcastically. „Sure," He rose from the armchair to make a cup of tea leaving Sherlock in the sitting room.

„You know, Sherlock, sometimes I wonder why you think so," John said thoughtful from the kitchen.

„You know why," Sherlock sighed exasperated and stretched his long body. John stopped in the doorway with the steaming mug in hand to gaze at him. John narrowed his eyes.

„Actually, no... You haven't,"

„Haven't I? I have not. No I mustn't have. Well -" Sherlock weaved his fingers to support his chin. He gazed at John through half-lidded eyes.

„Your bad," he leaned back in the chair, smirking. John rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable in his chair again.

„No matter what you think about the bloody feelings, you still should be more kind to Molly,"

„Why?" Sherlock tapered his eyes leaning forward towards John.

„You know... She actually does a great deal for you without you noticing," John shrugged his shoulders but remained resolute.

„I sure do notice everything of importance," Sherlock said uncomprehending. John rubbed his brow with a sigh.

„Oh boy, I wonder how you got me convinced to be your friend since you keep fending off people who wants to get close to you, Sherlock,"

„You're not "close to me", John," Sherlock said bluntly which made John shut completely. They sat staring at each other like they were worst enemies for an uncertain amount of time. It felt exactly like first time when Sherlock had showed off in the lab and left John awkwardly speechless. The situation seemed so childishly dispensable but if John opened his mouth to speak now he would just regret but anyway he cleared his throat.

„Definitely should consider being more nice to people in general, though," John murmured as he launched him off the chair. Sherlock's face remained emotionless.

„Where are you going?" Sherlock asked perplexed.

„To bed. I'm tired," John replied short and went up the stairs.

Sherlock tugged his legs up under his chin and stared sulking out in the darkness of the room. This position always had some immature kind of comfort to him. John's words were on replay in his mind but he didn't dwell by them. Feelings are a no good to an analytical brain that needs to take information from the observed and not take involvement in anything else but the pure facts. John should be well aware of this technique by now ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies^^ So I thought of this badboy and I wanted to share it with you Guys. I hope you like it - anyway I would really appreciate to know what you think. It would mean the World to me (really?) but yeah it would seriously :)   
> This is my first shot here on Archive of Our Own so no hate ^^ - thanks!


	2. Wibbly Wobbly Mind Palace

 

John Watson sat fidgeting in the waiting room outside the ward where Sherlock was taken care of from doctors and nurses. Patients with major injuries were coming and going regularly. John gnawed the flesh inside of his cheek leaving it ragged and with a faint taste of iron. He could be in there helping out his friend but he had to trust his fellow doctors.  
Molly Hooper waved tensed to him from a crowd of rushed nurses and patients.

„Sometimes I tend to forget my workplace is actually a hospital," she giggled confused and took a seat beside John who nodded.

„And I seemed to forget that bad injuries also can occur to your friends here," he offered a thin smile. He looked exhausted which made Molly uncertain.

„What happened?"

John snorted frustrated. „I received a call from Lestrade that Sherlock had been knocked unconscious pretty badly and that he is now staying at the hospital. It's possibly a concussion."  
Molly's eyebrows pulled together in concern;

„I wonder what he was doing." She mumbled mystified.

„No idea. When Greg met me here he told me Sherlock had come to him before - desperate to fend off the boredom," John shook his head but couldn't help smiling because the whole scenario - before the hospital, though - was so Sherlock. He could well imagine Sherlock walking out the door any minute with a great, joking smile on his lips welcoming them all with energetic "jazz-hands". That little, brilliant dickhead.

 

John waved to Mrs. Hudson. She joined them with a bright smile clearly trying to cheer them up. Molly and her chit-chatted a bit until the doctor came out to confront them and they all gazed questioningly upon him.

„One of you can enter," he said flatly.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson laid their eyes on John.

„I think you should go," Mrs. Hudson whispered loudly as she patted his lap comforting.  
 John rose from his chair and was led inside by a tap on his back from the doctor.

Sherlock lie on the bed with a bandage around his head and by his left temple a bloodspot had been soaked into the syntethic fabric. A couple of drips were attached to his exposed lower arms which supplied him with fluid. Discolouration was slightly visible across his left cheekbone and eyebrow. His dark curls lie higgledy-piggledy and framed his pale and slender face. John had seen much worse in his life but he had never ever got _used_ it - especially not when it was concerning his friends.

He sat on the bedside running his eyes over Sherlock to keep himself convinced that his flat mate was in good hands.

„He's had a concussion. He mumbled something that reminded of an apology - I'm not sure," he scratched his scalp. But John knew exactly what kind of apology Sherlock had mumbled about. He asked if he could be alone with the patient a couple of minutes if that was okay. The doctor nodded and pointed seriously:

„I'll give you two minutes,"

„I won't need more," John proclaimed as the door closed behind him.

He returned his gaze to the injured yet pretty face of his flat mate, Sherlock Holmes. Carefully he stroked a bunch of lively curls away from his face and flattened his palm on his forehead. The heat from beneath the bandage was noticeable. A sudden urge to take Sherlock home to nurse him himself gnawed on John.

„Listen, Sherlock, I know you can hear me whether you're unconscious or just resting," he glanced towards the door but the two minutes hadn't gone yet. 

„I just want you to know that no matter if you think you don't have friends, I have no idea what you would call that bunch of people outside who's really concerned about you." John clasped Sherlock's hand.

„Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and I," he squeezed his hand briefly by every name but Sherlock's face remained unchanged. The second there was a rustling by the door, John let go of Sherlock's hand and collected his thoughts.

In the doorway he stole one more glance at Sherlock who seemed to mime something inaudible.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head. His eyebrows pulled together, while he squeezed his eyes in a try to remember. The worst thing Sherlock knew was lack of memory. He forced himself into his Mind Palace, reviewing the day from the beginning; down to every bit of detail. But then he started to hesitate: nothing came to mind. Deep lines became visible in his forehead and he conducted his index and middle fingers up to his temples to ease the dull thudding which have begun to form.

Pictures of crime scenes, their flat in Baker Street, John Watson, science equipment and corpses, flew around inside Sherlock's mind, totally out of order. Frustrated to find his brain not following simple instructions, he opened his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

_Alright, then, if I'm not meant to memorize, I must deduce where I am here._

He made a quick spun on his heel to scan the room. A spun was actually _enough_ to see the entire area because it was _round_. He stood in an encircling room with a dozen doors on the walls and a neat glass table in the middle. Something seemed familiar but he wasn't sure what. The floor was based on black and white diamond-shaped tiles and the ceiling likewise. A huge chandelier hung above the table as the only light source in the room. The doors were clearly old-fashioned with big keyholes and doorknobs. Sherlock closed his hand around one of the knobs, slightly turning it to find it locked. He threw a narrow stare at the other doors. Halfway a curtain split the dozen doors in half. Out of curiosity he drew the curtain aside but was only to find the brick wall underneath. At his feet a miniature door was revealing and Sherlock squatted to have a closer look. _How odd,_ Sherlock eyed the door which was the size of a mouse hole.

_Why make such a small door if it does not have an intention?_

Of course it must have. He turned to the table. A key laid as the only item on the surface. Its conventional look matched the doors and besides why should it be there if it wasn't for the purpose of unlocking one of the many doors in here? Sherlock carefully picked it up and walked over to the previous door. He knelt down in front of it and found it fitting perfectly into the keyhole. He opened the door and a marvellous _garden_ met his sight. A surprised gasp escaped his throat as he peeked out through the doorway. He withdrew his head and glanced at the table in the centre. As Sherlock towered upon the table a tiny bottle with an old label was displayed as the only thing on the clear surface. He pinned the bottle between his index finger and the thumb to bring it closer to his gaze. It contained a yellow liquid and on the petite parchment calligraphy letters told him to: _Drink Me._

Sherlock uncorked the bottle and inhaled purposefully. No smell or intoxicating fumes. The fact it said _Drink Me_ was most appealing, but the need of doing some scientific tests on it first made him not do so. No need to be risking anything. He put down the bottle again with a faint smirk.

 

After half an hour with raking his fingers through his curls, tidying his Mind Palace, figuring out whether or not he should drink that bottle, trying all the doors (found them locked, obviously) and finally coming to the conclusion that he was intended to leave through the door which matched the key. Sherlock stood up from the floor and planted his palms on the glass.

_This **had** to be my help. _

He uncorked it once more and tipped the edge vaguely so a couple of drops moistened his bottom lip. It had a sharp taste of mint and lemon - most refreshingly - and he tilted the bottle a little more. A weird whirling was located in his fingertips and he hastily put back the bottle.

_Not a healthy sign, but the mixture was made of organic ingredients and had the taste of a typical Green Tea._

The clothes on him felt looser. He reached out for the board but it was too far away. The fabric of his coat, shirt and trousers blindfolded him as he most unbelievably _shrunk_ _out of it! ...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter!? Proud of you Guys, thank you very much :) How flattering ^^ Keep going! :D


	3. Meeting Up with a Girl

 

When he finally managed to get out, he was panting silently. He had always suffered from a mild form of claustrophobia, though he never wanted to admit it. It was an exaggerated phobia - feeling as well - and clearly one of the human errors. Sherlock was pleased to find that his boxers had somehow shrunken with him so he that wasn't completely nude. He didn't felt any pain, he had just shrunken. Oddly enough, Sherlock found himself excited of the effect this bottle of yellow liquid had on him.

He ran to the door, tried the handle and, of course, it was locked. Sherlock gazed back at the table and found the key lying undisturbed from where he put it. He bit the flesh inside of his cheek. Standing underneath the table, eyeing the key that clearly mocked him, was most discouraging. He had jumped, tried to crawl up at the table legs but not yet seized the board. Being tall was not really a thing Sherlock used to value in general but there were seriously disadvantages with being small.

Well, _tiny._

He leaped from table leg to the other and found a strange, pretty box. Sherlock arched his eyebrows in surprise. He had been doing this little jumping game like 10 times now and suddenly a box appears out of nothing. Lifting the lid he revealed a neat, little piece of cake with white frosting. Again a short demand were written: _Eat me._

Sherlock threw his head back to burst out a short scoffing laughter. Of course, it had to do it with cake. Sherlock took a firm hold on to the cake and brought it up to his mouth and nibbled off a corner. A vision of his brother, Mycroft, sitting in an armchair having his afternoon tea popped up in his head. Out of a sudden Sherlock started regaining his height. From watching the table _beneath,_ he now looked down at it.   
But more than that: now he had to bend his neck and arms at the ceiling and the walls to avoid him bumping into anything else. Sherlock guessed himself to have grown to be 4 point 15 metres. full it felt like only a pair of drops to his mouth. Luckily he immediately began to shrink and the key in his hand sized to a more realistic key. Sherlock ran to the door from across the room and placed the key in the perfectly fitting keyhole.

_So that's how I was supposed to come out this way,_ he thought to himself, bothered for not seeing the "obvious".

                                                                 ~ o ~

Sherlock entered the great garden which he had never seen anything like it. He went down a stony staircase and ended up on a path leading to an enormous gate. Flowers and mushrooms were as tall as trees and the trees as high as skyscrapers. Dumbfounded he followed the path. In the shadow of the flowers he heard a female voice speaking to him. Sherlock tried to locate the sound and found it coming from above. He narrowed his eyes and three of the flowers bended down to face him. A pink rose, a violet and a dandelion with pretty female faces blinked at him in curiosity. Sherlock's eyes widened - this was far too unreal to be realistic but everything about it had an unlimited fascination to him. The violet began to giggle as it held its leaf - probably of the purpose as a hand - to its lips. The pink rose went pinker - _blushed,_ you could call it.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants, Mr?"

The dandelion cut of the other two gigglers. The disturbing had caused a couple of more flowers bending down to be a part of the party.

„It's okay, you just go ahead with your boxers," the violet chuckled. „It kind of happens when you're entering through the rabbit hole."

For some reason Sherlock couldn't help but to feel his face getting warm. He glanced at the gate. Parasitic plants had covered most of the metal.

„Can you tell me where I am?" Sherlock asked the dandelion, judging it to be the most serious.

„A place _you_ never would have believed was here," it said offensively which made Sherlock snort. Well, that was obviously true but he still did not believe in this place or that he was actually consulting a bloody flower. He shot a single nod and pointed towards the gateway signalling he'd better dash off.

 

„Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" A young girl in a blue dress with blond hair stood on the other side of the gate. Sherlock paced up to the girl, some sort of relief displayed on his face.

„Can you tell me where I am?" he whispered like he was trying to avoid the curious ears of the blossoms.   
„I have tried deduction but I only see what I _see_ \- nothing beneath that. Everything is just so plain and so mystifyingly off beam," Sherlock locked eyes with the young girl.

„Follow me," she said without breaking the eye contact ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wibbly Wobbly now you're here!:D (Okay a bit of Doctor Who - hope you don't mind^^) I have a thing to confess... You're lovely - you truly are:)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies^^ So I thought of this badboy and I wanted to share it with you guys. I hope you liked this chapter - please tell me what you think. It would mean the World to me (really?) but yeah it would seriously:)  
> This is my first shot here on Archive of Our Own so no hate ^^ - thanks!


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